Shuten Dōji
by CharlesWatch220
Summary: A man takes it upon himself to coerce the Camorra to call off the open contract on the legendary John Wick, now on the run from the entire world.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Since there seems to be an extreme deficit in Wick-flicks (as I've seen it expressed in the comments for other works), I figured I could make a contribution of my own. It doesn't directly involve Jonathan though, but I gave it a shot.

* * *

The text message came just as dawn broke over the already bustling streets of Osaka. With a groan, Ooe Yuji picked up the burner cell phone on his bedside table, knocking over an empty bottle of whiskey in the process. His sleepy eyes squinted at the screen as he flipped it open, and once he read the message, flung the covers off and began packing.

There were only three things: John Wick. 14 million dollars. Excommunicado.

"Wick- _san,_ what have you done?" He muttered to himself. Once preparations were finished, he called the front desk he was checking out right now and needed transportation to the airport as well as an appointment with the owner, greatly stressing its urgency.

John Wick. Baba Yaga. The Devil. The Boogeyman. The man, the myth, and the living legend of all contract killers in his time. And the man that saved his life. Yuji only ever met John thrice in his entire life. Once as a child, another as a teenager, and the third time at his wife's funeral. Those three meetings changed everything for him. Although John told him not to, Yuji always thought of the man as his teacher, his savior. A man who changed his fate for the better.

"Dammit." He whispered as he sank back into the first-class leather seat of the plane to JFK International Airport.

A contract. An _open_ contract that had gone international to everyone. _Everyone._ Yuji was baffled. Open contracts in and of themselves were nothing special. It was first come, first served, and winner takes all, but this was something that he would not have dreamed of to come true.

Hunting down _John Wick_ as an excommunicated man from the Continental. He was now without weapons, support, or a safe haven.

There were various rules members must adhere to, but only four would incur the penalty of excommunication and subsequent execution: dishonoring the marker, killing its holder, fleeing from it, and conducting "business" on Continental grounds. Whoever wanted him dead was anybody's guess.

While he knew not of the details, upon instinct Yuji knew. John's actions were strictly and purely personal. The John Wick he knew was a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will that would make steel seem like balsa wood. He would _never_ let emotions or personal relations cloud his judgement, let alone slow him down. Not in this line of work. That was why Yuji regarded him as the best.

With nothing to do for another twelve hours above the clouds, Yuji closed his eyes and steadied his breathing as the saxophone loosened a shrill note into his ear.

* * *

Many men and women of all ages and nationalities were present at the Continental Hotel. Some were conversing, others reading, or fidgeting with their phones in the lobby. All of them were well-dressed, all except Yuji, whose casual attire of boots, cargo pants, tanktop and a large mods coat lined with fur was out of place, leading to several pairs of eyes staring at him.

Without giving them a second thought, Yuji strolled towards the bald, bespectacled concierge in an ever-crisp suit staring down at the computer screen through his gold-rimmed glasses. There was no nameplate pinned to his jacket, but he knew exactly who he was: Charon. "Good afternoon, Mr. Ooe," his deep, accented voice greeted. "It is a pleasure to see you again, sir. I understand you wish to meet the owner on an urgent matter?"

Yuji nodded.

"He will be available for dinner. I have you for three nights."

"That's correct." Yuji pushed a stack of six gold coins towards him. "But depending on business, I may extend my stay here."

"Of course, sir." After several rapid clacks of the keyboard, Charon handed a keycard in exchange. "Room 622. Your bespoke suit will be ready shortly. Do enjoy your stay."

"Thank you. Oh, and is the sommelier in?"

"Always, sir. Always." His lips curved into the faintest smile.

With a nod, Yuji walked off to his room. He always liked the Continental Hotel no matter which branch it was. The bed was large and just the right consistency, the view was good, the food was amazing, and the place had this scent of comfort that no other establishment seemed capable of providing. Once his suit arrived――which took exactly ten minutes to deliver after he entered the room――Yuji quickly changed into it. It was Italian-made like John's, only without the waistcoat and the monochromatic color palette. He certainly did admire how the man carried himself and his sense of fashion, but not the significantly lacking variety in color. It was navy blue with a red tie. After a few adjustments with the tie's knot, he took the elevator and headed towards the lounge.

Winston was sitting quietly in a corner with a book in hand and a cup of steaming coffee. "Ah, Mr. Ooe. A pleasure to see you again. You've grown." He extended a hand with a smile as he stood up

Yuji shook the hand firmly and bowed his head. "And you, Mr. Winston, you continue to age well in good health." Though he did not mention it, he could not help but notice the significant increase in the grayness of Winston's hair. "I would like to thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice. I hope you can forgive me if I have inconvenienced you."

"Oh no, no. No need to be so apologetic, young man." Winston waved his hand dismissively as he removed his glasses and sat back down. "Though I do appreciate your courtesy. Please sit. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your sudden visit? If memory serves, your area of operation never strayed too far from home."

"This visit is more of a….personal nature."

"You are aware aiding and abetting Jonathan will incur penalties of its own upon you?"

"Yes, but that is not my intention. I just would like to know what happened to him. What lead to…. _this_."

"The nature of another man's marker is confidential, but what I can say is that the late Mr. D'Antonio had caused…quite the grievance to Jonathan during his time, to say the least. Burned his home to the ground and took a bullet in the head for the trouble right here in this lounge, if you believe it."

He did. Thing were finally starting to make sense. A marker was involved. Something that allowed the holder to ask one that owed him or her to do whatever was desired irrespective of anything. A leash that dragged him back into the life he left. "I see. And the bounty on his head is still valid?"

"Very much so. No news of the account being closed. Not yet, anyhow. You know how these organizations work. No one would ever let him get away with killing their leaders, not the way Jonathan did. You know this best, I believe. You've honored a mark for a High Table member before. Twice."

Yuji nodded in agreement. "One more thing. I would appreciate it if you could send this to the members of the High Table. The sooner the better." He set an unsealed letter down in front of Winston and gently pushed it forward, along with thirteen coins. "I know it would not mean much to Mr. Wick and it most certainly will not excuse me for what I am about to do. But regardless, I would like my intentions to be properly understood."

"Naturally. I will have a courier take this to them on the hour, then."

"Thank you, sir."

"In the meantime, would you like something to drink?"

"May I have what you are having then, please?"

With a quick nod, a waitress came by with a cup of coffee and set it down in front of Yuji. Winston and he raised the cups in silence. _To John Wick._

Once Yuji finished his drink, he left with a bow to Winston. Winston carefully pulled the letter out of the envelope and smiled a little. It was made of rice paper, the letter written with a brush and ink.

 _This is a declaration of intent so as to clarify my intentions._

 _Although I bear no ill will to the distinguished members of the High Table, I will commence to harass and dismantle the Camorra's operations wherever they are active in every way possible in retaliation to what was done to Mr. John Wick ex post facto the honoring of his marker owed to the late Mr. Santino D'Antonio. The attacks will cease immediately when the bounty on Mr. John Wick is retracted._

 _Until then, your blood will continue to fill my gourd._

 _酒呑童子_

"Jonathan, you better appreciate this." Winston whispered to no one in particular. "The blood-drunk demon is trying to save you."

* * *

Opening a door on the lobby floor, Yuji stepped into a room filled with shelves and tables with silk tablecloths adorned with lacing. Bottles of wine of every kind imaginable were kept there along with wine glasses. "Mr. Ooe." The Sommelier bowed before putting a pistol back on the shelf with the others. "How may I be of service today?"

"I believe there's something kept on the shelf for me. From Russia."

"Russia, Russia…ah, yes." Her face brightened, realizing what Yuji was talking about. She hurried back behind the counter and pulled out a small case. Undoing the latch, she revealed a revolver. "The MP412 REX. I must admit, I was quite surprised to see this particular breed. Very rare."

"It was a special order."

"Ah. What's next?"

"Something sleek and sharp."

"Hmm….The CZ SP-01 Shadow. A Czech varietal with options of a bayonet attachment underneath."

"Perfect. Any recommendations for something smooth but holds the element of surprise?"

"Of course. The MP7A1." She presented proudly. "14.96 inches in length, custom trigger, textured grips and a threaded barrel for a suppressor if necessary. Options for twenty, thirty, or forty round magazines."

Taking the weapon into his hands, Yuji inspected it, pulling the trigger, operating the safety as well as the collapsible foregrip and retractable stock, and nodded in satisfaction. "I also want dessert."

"Ah, yes. You have quite the sweet tooth, I'm told." Producing a box with several drawers, she revealed a selection of knives from OTFs, switchblades, karambits and a modern adaptation of the kris. "Our finest cutlery, all fresh off the stone."

Yuji picked up a trench knife without hesitation.

"Excellent choice, sir. Shall I have everything sent to your room?"

"Please." With a smile, he put down a stack of a dozen coins in front of her. It was almost time for war.


	2. Chapter 2

Balance was an important factor in Yuji's life, be it what he eats, whom he associates with, how he sleeps, even how he fights. Assassins almost always pick the most strategically advantageous tactics, and Yuji does as well, but this was not a hit. It was more a warm up.

The first place that he knew he could hit was the Mela D'oro, a fancy members-only club with a strict dress-code. Every entrance was covered with at least four armed guards. Scanning the surrounding area as he drove around at a distance, Yuji took note of their shifts, quickly committing them to memory.

Now the only question was this: where would the point of entry be? Pulling out a gold coin, he tossed it. Lion, full frontal assault. Man would be the back door.

* * *

" _Mi scusi, signori,_ " Yuji called out to the guards in Italian. "Have you seen a cat around here? She's a tuxedo and has a red collar. She slipped out of my car when I was getting gas." He held out an image on his phone.

Upon inspecting the picture, all of them shook their head in silence but as soon as they blinked, their bodies collapsed to the floor as they felt a searing white-hot pain from their torso and a sudden chill seeping in. It was only after it was too late that they realized their impending deaths. They knew not where it came from or how it was concealed, but there was a trench knife in the man's hand, the blade blackened from its recently claimed victim's blood. Their vision soon turned black as the blade delivered the killing stroke, tearing their throats open.

While he had nothing against the Italian culture, Yuji was absolutely disgusted with the majority of the décor. The color choice of the carpet floor made his eyes hurt, and the ceiling and most of the walls were painted as if it were the Sistine Chapel. The line between classy and gaudy is very fine, and this establishment crossed it by a mile.

Knife in hand, he immediately gutted a guard with an earpiece. Commandeering his Glock, Yuji emptied the magazine into the ceiling as well as some other men that pushed past the crowd to dispatch him. The attendants all screamed and fled in terror, pushing past and trampling each other to get out of the line of fire, making a mess of themselves with stains from food, wine, and whatever else there was. As the crowd cleared out, Yuji switched to the MP7A1 and tilted the gun sideways, employing the Center Axis Relock system that John favors. He fired as he swiveled around, bullet casings flying all over the floor and painting over the walls with fresh blood.

Continuing to saunter through the club, more guards showed, only to be mowed down by Yuji's superior reflexes. Letting the MP7A1 hang from the sling, Yuji reached for his favored weapon: a wakizashi that was 24-inches in length. In a single fluid draw and slash, the man closest to him fell as his head rolled off his shoulders.

They all froze. And this was precisely why Yuji favored blades. The medieval style of death-dealing was more grisly, more graphic. It instilled and fanned the fear of death by mutilation. Even now, the stump where the head used to be was spouting blood like a sprinkler, dying everything it touched crimson.

Once the carnage had died down, Yuji promptly wiped the blade down on a guard's shirt, leaving a large reddish black stain on his collar. Slicking his short black hair back now caked in blood, he walked upstairs in search for a "staff only" sign. Sadly, there were none, and he had no time to lose. The dignitaries that fled with ties to the Camorra surely had called this in by now. "Should have gotten blueprints from the Architect."

Walking back downstairs, he painted his mark on the wall with blood in Japanese. _Shuten Dōji,_ The Drunkard Demon. As he was about to walk out, two particular bottles behind the bar counter caught his eye. One was Blanton's Single Barrel Bourbon, a favorite of John's. The other was a twelve-year Angostura 1824, Yuji's personal favorite. Vaulting over the bar counter, he helped himself to both. He then emptied a fresh magazine of the MP7A1 into every bar counter in sight, shattering every bottle on the shelf. "Wick- _san,_ here I go." He struck and tossed them as he walked around to each counter, setting the place aflame, leaving with a satisfied smirk.

He then drove away in his Skyline GTR from a parking lot, heading towards a container yard. Flooring the gas pedal, the engine roared as the chain link fence grew larger by the second. With a deafening crash, the gates were torn off by the generated force. Even then Yuji did not let up. He tore through the container yard, making hairpin curves, driving in reverse, and running the occasional unfortunate henchman over. The swearing, cursing and screams in Italian were drowned by Miles Davis' trumpet on the radio.

Once the car had run out of gas, Yuji stepped out of the car. Over a dozen men were standing twenty meters away from him, all toting weapons of some kind, but many of them injured. They all stared at him with a look of hatred and confusion, and Yuji returned nothing more than a blank stare.

"Che cazzo sei!?" One of them yelled as he spat out what appeared to be a broken tooth.

" _Shuten Dōji._ " Yuji answered. "I am here to file a complaint about what was done to John Wick by your late leader Santino D'Antonio. If these wrongs remain unaddressed, I will guarantee that none of you will be receiving the next shipment in the morning. And I just came from razing the Golden Apple." As if to prove his point further, he opened the trunk and produced a severed head of one of the guards, and tossed it at their feet.

 _That_ caught their attention. Everyone that worked for the Camorra in America knew that place was a fortress, nigh-impregnable. But this diminished every possibility of tricks or bluffs.

"I want you all to go back to your employer. Tell them to cancel the price on John Wick's head lest they keep losing their soldiers. Losing you, your fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins." With a quick bow of the head, Yuji drove away, leaving the men talking amongst themselves rapidly in Italian.

* * *

Whistling along as the jazz station played on the radio, Yuji drove back to the Continental. For a warm-up, things went a lot better than he anticipated. He actually half expected the men to start firing at him as soon as he turned his back. Handing the keys to the valet, he walked through the lobby to the front desk. Charon's suit was immaculately pressed as ever. "Good evening, sir."

"Hi. How good's your laundry?"

With a quick scan, Charon shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry to say sir, but….no one's _that_ good."

Yuji shrugged. "Eh. Worth a try. I'd like to order some room service, my usual course meal in about an hour if that's alright."

"Of course, sir. Will you be needing a mechanic as well for repairing your transportation?"

"That would be fabulous. Thank you." Leaving the car keys with him, Yuji slung the bag of weapons and booze over his shoulder and ascended to his room on the elevator. Luckily, he suffered no injuries. All he needed was a shower to wash the blood off.

Tossing the blood soaked clothing into the trashcan in the corner, he turned the handle on the shower. The steamy hot water melted the blood caked on his head like wax, falling into the drain as it got watered down. Once the blood was gone, he slowly turned the handle back, dropping the temperature of the water. Yuji let out a sigh of relief. Walking out of the bathroom soaking wet with nothing but a towel covering his modesty, he opened the bottle of bourbon, poured it in a glass, and took a sip. The slow, deep burn that coursed from the tip of his tongue through his body felt amazing as it settled in his stomach, smooth as a polished blade. "No wonder you like it neat." Finishing one glass, he helped himself to another as he put some clothes on. After a while, the phone on the bedside table rang. "Yes?"

 _"Yuji, it's Aurelio."_

"Good evening. Is the Mustang fixed yet? Or do you still need a decade to finish it up?"

 _"Nah, it's thirty percent done, last time I checked. Taking it slow and careful, you know? For when…..he comes back?"_

" _When_? You're that certain he's coming back?"

 _"Well, uh….I've seen the car in worse condition, believe it or not, so yeah. Yours will be ready in about three days. Want anything as a replacement while it's getting fixed? Motorcycle, maybe?"_

"Ducati Monster 821." Yuji answered without missing a beat.

 _"Alright. I'll have that down there for you by tomorrow."_

"Thank you. Say hi to your niece for me."

 _"Fuck you, man."_ The two men chuckled briefly.

As they hung up, there was a knock at the door and a woman walked in pushing a trolley with platters of food. "Your course meal, sir."

"Thank you very much." Yuji handed her two coins and gave her a knowing smile. She raised a brow in surprise, but understanding what he was implying, she gave a small nod before exiting.

* * *

"Welcome back, sir," Charon greeted Winston as he approached the front desk. "Crossings were smooth, I hope?"

"The crossings, yes. What happened in between….not so much, I'm afraid." Winston had hoped whoever replaced Santino at the High Table would be of a more understanding nature, but it was for naught. The Camorra obviously still wanted John's head and now the emergence of a third party, Yuji, had rubbed them the wrong way even further. They refrained from demanding the revocation of his membership at the Continental though, at the very least, saving time to issue a well-thought out threat.

What they especially took exception to, however, was the butchering of the men and the venue being destroyed quite thoroughly. Winston quietly chuckled upon seeing the High Table's reaction when they got the report. Yuji always was a man who had a flare for the dramatic and presentation in terms of proving his being there. In fact, Winston had the pleasure of watching his handiwork in the past. He was quite interested in how fine of a line he was going to walk, how far he was going to damage the Camorra, and who might be interested in siding with him in this one-man war.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuji had gotten used to rude awakenings when he chose to trod this path in life. In fact, he was _forced_ to, lest he lose his life. They came in various forms: hitmen, bombs, booby-traps, torture, breakfast in bed, a bucket of ice-cold water, good morning kisses, and phone calls. Today's awakening came in the last form. The phone on the bedside table trilled, making his naked company mumble into the pillow as she rolled over toward him. Kissing her above the brow line and lightly fondling her buttocks, he reached for the phone.

"Charon, I know it's important, but it's like quarter past five in the morning right now." Yuji whispered holding back a yawn.

 _"I do apologize for the awakening, but the manager would like to see you at the lounge, sir."_

"Could you tell him I'll be down in fifteen minutes, please?"

 _"Of course, sir. Thank you very much for your understanding."_

Hanging the phone up, he quietly slid out of bed, almost tripping over a pair of black pumps and powder blue, lacey lingerie. He very much wanted to remain in the comfort of the soft bed creased with the warmth of the still sleeping lady, a personal call from Winston was no matter that could be callously ignored. Quickly dressing himself, he pulled on the shoulder holsters housing the two pistols recently acquired and hid it underneath the jacket.

The sun was just barely rising, a faint glimmer just barely peeking out of the horizon of the excessively well-lit city. With a light ding, the elevator reached the lobby and Yuji quickly made his way down the stairs to the lounge. Winston sat there, as usual, reading a book except instead of a suit he was wearing silk pajamas and a bathrobe.

"I'm guessing this is about my declaration of intent to the High Table?"

"Indeed. The others have shown a certain degree of understanding for your reasons of acting. The Russians are still in the process of rebuilding, courtesy of Jonathan's handiwork, so they can't be bothered. The Triads and Tongs, and Yakuza, well, they owe you a great deal so they don't care too much. They don't parley with the Camorra in the first place except for every once in a blue moon. Mr. Akoni and his superiors, however, are quite happy."

"Hardly surprising there."

"The others are…well, let's just say _interested_ in how their new leader is going to deal with this second storm approaching to rock the proverbial boat. That theatric stunt you pulled at their club did incur quite a sum for repairs. Four months needed for renovation, if my memory serves."

"They have recovered from far, far worse. This is the equivalent of a bruise. But I am unsure if they really will come at me with everything they have. The most dominant D'Antonio family lost their stake to the seat at the High Table. I'm willing to bet money that not everyone is satisfied with the de facto family head. They would tear each other apart before they would get to me."

"That may be so. By the by, this is meant for you." Winston slid a post card of Mount Vesuvius across the table towards Yuji. Flipping it over, it revealed a stamp of a hand in thick black ink that would be reserved for an ancient printing press.

Yuji inhaled sharply at the sight. "A _mano nera_? Now _this_ will be quite the souvenir. And this is from….Darn, I keep forgetting his name. It started with a V. I remember that much. Vicente? No, Vincent? Nope, not that either…uhhh….Valentino….no…"

"Vincenzo Fedrico, and yes, the man stamped it himself in front of me."

"Oh my." Yuji chuckled. "He must be livid then."

"You're going on your sabotage spree again today, I take it?"

" _After_ breakfast. I'm going to sleep for another two hours before the buffet opens."

Just as he was about to leave, Winston pulled his phone out. "Hello?" After several seconds, he handed the phone to Yuji without another word.

" _Ciao._ Is this Mr. Fedrico?"

 _"Yes. Eugene, was it?"_ A scratchy, husky voice of a man with a thick accent asked.

"No, close though. _Yuji_. I take it this postcard is your declaration of intent?"

 _"You could say that, yes. I'm making this phone call because I would like you to know firsthand that I understand very much your reason for acting. But I too must keep in mind the best interests of the Camorrah as do the rest of the clans and I have my duty as a High Table member."_

"Yes, family. I know how that goes."

 _"So you understand why we are at an impasse. I cannot simply call off the bounty on John Wick. Nor can I abide by your actions at the club. My men are calling for both of your heads."_

"With all due respect, that _action_ was nothing more than a warmup. I could have done much, much worse if I wanted to."

 _"So it would seem. What do you say we….adhere to the tradition of the vendetta, ah? No civilians, no children, no police, and no open accounts. Just us."_

"Agreed. And no 'business' in the premises of the Continental, of course." He gave a small nod towards Winston who returned one. "However, whether under your orders or not, should _anyone_ on your side break the rules, although it pains me to say it, I _will_ retaliate in kind. _Buona fortuna, signore._ "

 _"In bocca al lupo, ragazzo."_ With that, the line went dead.

"Still going to sleep after that?" Winston asked as he retrieved his phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

"After I ask Charon to give me a morning call when my ride comes back. Besides, do you really need to ask? I like sleeping. It is not like I am working in a different time zone any time soon." Hopefully that lady was still curled up, her dirty blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, spilling out on the sheets that clung to her and managed to outline her figure. Plus she could hold her liquor well and smelled like cake, which is always a plus.

* * *

"Such a shame." Yuji sighed as he sat down on a plastic chair in a large kitchen. His wakizashi was propped against the wall within reach. In front of him was a cash box with the lock shot off and several finished plates of food piled on top of each other. He liked eating, and letting food go to waste was _not_ an option. Everything was perfectly made. The insalata caprese, focaccia, prosciutto di Parma, rabbit cacciatore, _everything_ tasted amazing. He even enjoyed a glass of Tuscan wine, ate some tiramisu and washed it down with a cup of coffee and even washed the dishes and cutlery he used. " _Gochisousama._ "

* * *

It started off with entering an Italian restaurant about half an hour before they were going to open for the day. Shooting the lock off with the revolver, he waltzed in, sword drawn in the other hand, glinting in the beam of sunlight shining in from the open window.

There were several men armed with submachine guns locked and loaded, but Yuji dove to the side as he felt a sharp pain along his left side and thigh. several bullets had grazed him and he felt a small piece of glass from a pitcher stuck in his face. Pulling it out and tossing it aside, he held the blade in his mouth and drew his other gun, the SP-01. Wildly returning fire in the general direction of the men's last known locations, he smacked a fresh magazine and a moon clip into each of his guns as he tipped tables over to hide his position while he crawled away from their line of fire. They covered each other as some of them reloaded and others stayed on alert.

"Smart and well trained." Yuji whispered to himself as he grabbed a pepper shaker and lobbed it above their head and fired. The small container exploded, blinding the men temporarily. They screamed in pain and coughed. Standing up, he walked towards them, rapidly closing the gap. Seven roars of .357 magnum rounds stopped the men in their tracks with ease, finished off with a double tap from the automatic. The last one blindly stumbling away as he tripped over chairs had his head severed from behind as Yuji ran past him, which landed on a large round table and knocked over a decanter of Chianti before rolling to a stop. The immaculate, white table cloth immediately stained, mingling with the arterial spray.

Picking up the phone next to the cash register, he dialed a number. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to make a dinner reservation for one two three…eight. Mmm-hmm. Really? Thank you. There's some amazing food left in the kitchen. Brick oven baked calzones and pizzas if you're interested."

Hanging up, he opened the large cash box, revealing stacks of gold coins as well as hundred dollar bills. His life style may be simple but it did not mean it was inexpensive. Plus Yuji had not had a decent job offer for almost four months. Not that it mattered considering the fortune he already has, but replenishing funds was never a bad idea. This war he was waging _will_ take a long while and a lot of money. Just as Yuji was about to go back into the kitchen to raid the wine coolers, the door opened and a short stocky man in a fedora followed by six burley, barrel-chested men emerged, each one of them carrying buckets and cleaning products. "Charlie, gentlemen. You're early."

"Lucky with traffic. But my, oh my. Quite the mess you made."

Yuji shrugged. It was what happened when using a sword. "Nothing you can't handle, right? A job can't be _too_ easy."

"Hmm." Charlie smiled as he hummed.

"Can I leave you to it?"

"Of course." Accepting eight coins from the box, Charlie waved to Yuji goodbye as he headed towards the kitchen in search for a good bottle of wine. He was not too much of a connoisseur when it came to wine, so he picked two.

Placing them in the side cases of the Ducati parked outside, Yuji fired up the engine, but jerked it around to the side as he felt the back of his neck tingle. A bullet seemingly coming out of nowhere ricocheted off the helmet.

"Shit!" Though slightly discombobulated, Yuji fled the area weaving through the traffic. Bullets continued to rain down on his back, shattering windshields, destroying lamp posts, flattening tires, and setting off car alarms. Checking the side mirrors and glancing upwards behind him, Yuji saw a familiar face. A man with a shaved head and a beard, donning a blue suit. In his hand was a long rifle with a bipod underneath. He was too far to make out facial features, but Yuji knew. _That_ man was going to be trouble.

Parking in front of the Continental, Yuji brought today's spoils of war back to his room. The bed was made and the trolley of food had already been taken away. All that was left was a business card with an imprint of a set of pink lips. Dressing his wounds, Yuji dialed another number on speaker.

 _"Operator. How may I direct your call?"_ A young woman's voice sounded.

"Logistics and conveyance please."

 _"One moment, please."_

Barely twenty seconds passed before the call went through. _"Logistics and conveyance, how may I help you?"_

"I have a box to ship."

 _"Verification?"_

"0085-02."

 _"Dimensions?"_

"In centimeters, height is 20, width 45, length 35."

 _"Weight?"_

"Ten kilograms, not more."

 _"Destination?"_

"The bank."

 _"Time of pick up?"_

"7:00 pm at the hotel."

 _"Processing. Please hold."_ Again, in less than a minute, the woman on the phone confirmed the order.

Taking a stack of coins from the box for later use, Yuji sat with his legs crossed on the bed. That man that was shooting him definitely looked familiar. He cursed himself for not being able to put names to faces. It was one of the ill effects of being a contract killer. Targets were just targets, not people. They were names to be crossed off someone's shit-list. "Dammit, come on….Come on, who was that man?" Concentrating on breathing, Yuji continued to mutter to himself as he racked his brains to recall the sniper. He even had several drinks to see if that would jog his memory. And after finishing an entire bottle and a glass of bourbon, Yuji had a dazed but wide ear to ear grin. "I should've known. Cassian."


	4. Chapter 4

WHEW! Finally done with finals and graduation ceremonies and all that fun stuff. Now I can actually juggle the graduate level course along with my personal time for writing. I apologize profusely for the hiatus, but it is what it is. I'll try my best to post more for the other story I have on this website. Hopefully I haven't completely lost my touch.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Cassian. Where is he?" Yuji whispered to the man sprawled on the pavement whom he was sitting on, the blade of his short sword a hair's breadth away from severing his left ring finger. The pinky was already a bloody stump. The man cursed at Yuji in Italian through choked back sobs, but screamed as another of his fingers came off, followed by a splash of alcohol on the bleeding hand. "Listen, you have eight more fingers and ten more toes. I have a bottle of vodka that is not even half empty. You do the math."

"Fuck y――" The blade jammed into the thumb knuckle, leaving it just barely hanging by the skin.

"Before you say anything more, I can understand Italian. Mention my family again, I will take an eye. _Where_ is Cassian?"

"I DON'T KNOW I SWEAR!" He gasped before slumping to the floor. The blood loss had put him in shock.

Leaving the body, Yuji stood up as he muttered in frustration. "How can that man _hide_ so well?" Cassian was a well-built six foot tall man with a bald head and a rather intimidating thick beard. While he may be able to lose people tailing him in a crowd, his face was definitely not one that could be forgotten easily. It was already past three in the morning and after going through a dozen or so inquiries and interrogations, Yuji still had nothing. Walking away from the littered bodies of Camorra henchmen, he decided to turn in for now. He needed a drink and was hungry.

* * *

After a late brunch, Yuji sat in a park with a bottle of green tea in hand and a takeout bag from Applebee's, scanning the area, regretting that he had come out too early. It was a Monday at high noon. Too many pedestrians were obscuring his vision. And it was strangely humid, an aspect of general weather that Yuji just barely tolerated.

He needed to cool off. Standing up, he moved to an area with round tables, situated underneath the shade of a large tree, some of which had checkered tiles for chess games. Several elderly men and women were playing, betting cigarettes and even some small change. He plopped down on a seat in front of a man wearing a beanie, not much older than himself. His checker flannel and hooded coat was frayed at the edges, but still in good condition. A dog was at his feet, feasting on a small box of chicken nuggets.

"You up for a game?" He asked.

"Sure." Tossing a quarter, it was decided that Yuji would go first. They silently moved the pieces as the man pulled out a tin mug and bottle from his pack, taking small sips from time to time. He was good. Yuji typically invited the opponent to make the error, using their moves against themselves to further his advantage, but this man refused to take the bait. His playing style had finesse, clarity, and yet was unpredictable.

"You're good." He commented.

"Lots of time to practice. You are amazing as well."

"Thanks man. It's how I get by."

"Hm. Promotion. I'll take my queen back." Yuji reached over the table for his piece.

"Damn." He clicked his tongue as he took a knight from the board. Another twenty minutes passed as they played, but the match ultimately ended in Yuji's loss.

"Nice game." The man nodded and as he extended his hand over the table to shake Yuji's, his palm hit something other than skin. Something cold and hard. "Tell him it's Yuji Ooe."

The man furrowed his brow as he stared at the gold coin in his palm. Looking down at the board, he held up three fingers. Yuji flicked his eyes to his pieces that were captured: aside from pawns, a rook, a knight, and a bishop. With a sigh, he forked over three more coins. Packing the chess pieces, the man stood up, silently motioning to follow.

Walking through a complex maze of alleyways for about an hour, the man silently motioned Yuji to hold his arms out and after a quick pat-down and a satisfactory nod, he pointed towards the fire escape of a red brick building. Yuji slowly walked up the steps as the man followed two steps behind him with his dog. "Thank you for seeing me. Your man is quite the chess player." Yuji bowed his head slightly. He stood atop the roof of one of the many abandoned buildings now used as illegal loft housing or large scale soup kitchens. Many other men dressed as beggars were either sitting down on foldable chairs eyeing Yuji or tending to the cages filled with dozens of carrier pigeons.

"Oh, you played Earl?" The dark-skinned man walking amongst them chuckled, petting a pigeon. "Toughest man I know to beat at that damn game. How'd you do?"

"He took a hefty toll for himself." Earl smirked at Yuji's words.

"Yeah, he does that sometimes." He let out a hearty laugh as he gently tossed the pigeon back into the cage. "Figured it was about time you came to me. But what I don't understand is your emotional stake in the affairs of John."

"I was told you were the Bowery King; all-seeing, all-knowing. Your question is quite unbecoming of a man who claims such power and intelligence." Yuji's retort earned him several sharp glares from the men sitting around him. They were all armed. He could tell.

"Funny kid, aren't ya."

"Will you help me or not?"

"Can I? Yes. Will I? Well, we'll see."

"I actually come bearing a personal gift. For you."

"Really?" The Bowery King turned around with a skeptical smile.

"Yes." He held up the Applebee's takeout bag for the Bowery King to see. "A Nashville Hot Chicken Sandwich with fries. From Applebees. Just so you know, I had to buy lunch for Mr. Earl here. And his dog."

The Bowery King remained silent for a full minute before bursting out in howling laughter and took another minute before he was able to catch his breath. " _Damn! Woooh!_ Alright, fine. You got me there. That… _that_ was good. Oh, man. It's been a while since I had a decent laugh like that one. So, you need a way into the Camorra's stronghold in this city. _And_ you need to find a person of interest. I will do one for that laugh."

"One?"

"One laugh gets you one favor. You choose which one." He took the bag from Yuji and unwrapped the sandwich, taking a moment to reflect as he breathed in the spicy aroma.

"Please find Cassian then. I will do the rest."

"Sold American. We'll send a bird for you to the hotel roof. Twenty four hours."

"Thank you."

"Earl, show him out, will you?"

With a nod, Earl again motioned Yuji to follow him. On the way out, he pulled a long, cloth bag and handed it to Yuji at the door. The length was familiar. "For the lunches."

"Thank you. I'd like to play you again if the occasion arises." With a silent nod, Earl slipped back into the building.

* * *

Yuji sat on the floor of the hotel room with his legs crossed. The long cloth bag sat in front of him. He had been staring at it, hard, for the last ten minutes since he returned. In it was a full-length katana, a high quality one, possibly even better than the short sword he has been using.

He now had twenty-four hours to strategize, but he hadn't the faintest clue as for where to begin. What was he even going to say to Cassian once he tracked him down? To let his employers die? That was obviously not going to happen, especially after the incident with Gianna D'Antonio under his watch. Reputation is the equivalent of blood and oxygen for people in their line of work, and a second error would likely mean his career's end. Besides, Cassian has no emotional stake in saving John Wick like Yuji. He certainly did respect the man, but that was all. His hate for the Camorra only stops with the late Santino as he was the cause of Gianna's death.

"Fuck," Yuji muttered as he snatched up his phone and dialed a number. Working alone was the general way of doing things, but this time, no matter how he planned it, it was not going to work. He needed a second opinion and maybe even an extra set of hands.

After three rings, the call was answered by a young woman. _"Hello?"_ Yuji immediately felt his throat close up. For about ten seconds, he was unable to utter a sound. _"Hello-o-o?"_

"Pearline, it's me. Yuji." He muttered, clearing his throat.

 _"Oh. Hey."_ Pearline replied quietly.

"Are you in the area right now by any chance?"

 _"In Japan?"_

"No. America. The Continental."

After a long pause, Yuji heard Pearline exhale hard into the mouthpiece. _"This is about John Wick, isn't it?"_

"Yes. And you know I would not be calling you if the matter is not of the utmost importance. I, uh…..I need your help."

 _"With what, exactly?"_ Pearline asked slowly, the caution rising in her tone.

"Getting the Camorra to cancel the price on Mr. Wick's head." Yuji answered plainly.

Again, there was a long pause on her end before she replied, _"You do know that the High Table will still want him dead, right?"_

"Yes. But it's a start. Mr. Winston….considers him a favorite. He is doing what he can in his own way."

 _"What makes you so sure about that? Sure, he's the owner of the Continental, but even he can't cross some lines. Fighting head-on with the entire High Table won't end well for him. Bad for his health, to say the least."_

"I know that. I know that _he_ knows that. Mr. Winston has been doing this for God knows how long, he's no fool." After all, he did use a loophole before during the incident with Iosef and Viggo. "So…will you please help me?"

 _"I could. But I want something in return."_

This time, it was Yuji's tone that rose in caution as he slowly answered, "That would depend on what you ask for, but I will do everything in my power to deliver. You have my word." It was not that he did not expect the quid-pro-quo, he only worried about what exorbitant price or favor Pearline was going to ask him to do or give in exchange for her services.

 _"Teach me how to use a sword."_

"Come again?" Yuji thought his hearing was gone for a second.

 _"Teach me. How. To use. A sword."_ She repeated, enunciating the words firmly. _"I never really learned properly. I have books and I can handle knives, but….it's not the same. You're the only expert that I personally know other than Ghost Dog. Do we have a deal?"_

"That's…..that's it?" Yuji asked, scrunching his face in a mixture of confusion and surprise. While he did not know Ghost Dog personally, his honorable way of life and achievements are well known as John Wick.

 _"Well, you could also find a place that has good chocolate ice cream when I get there."_

"Done. I will do my best to teach you." If that was all it was going to take, he had no qualms of acquiescing her request. It had been a while since he had a decent sparring partner with swords. "Shall I meet you at the airport?"

 _"No need. I'll see you at the Continental."_ With that, she promptly hung up. As the dull tone of the dead line continued to buzz, Yuji tossed his phone on to the bed and pulled the sword out from the bag again, setting it on the table along with his short blade. He was going to need a new sword belt. Hopefully the Sommeliers can think of something. They always do.

It had been quite a while since he trained with the long sword. The blade rang as it was drawn from the scabbard. With his legs slightly spread apart, he gripped the handle wrapped in ray skin and held the weapon up at eye level. Yuji was five feet and nine inches tall, which, by American standards is not uncommonly short, but still fell just below the average height. His physique was thin but chiseled, and he preferred it that way. It meant a smaller target for the opponent, an advantage he greatly exploited for getting in close and ending the fight with a swift, fatal strike with a short, wieldy weapon.

With a breath, Yuji swung, the blade whistling through the air. After a dozen or so strikes at an imaginary opponent, he shook his head in disgust. He was out of practice. Snatching the phone on the bedside table, he hit zero to contact the front desk. "I'm going to need the fitness center. Room 622, yes. Thank you. Also I'm going to have a guest arrive tomorrow. Yes. Can room service accommodate Japanese cuisine? Something simple will do. For tomorrow, yes. Thank you." Tossing the phone back, he took the two swords and headed out. He had an all-nighter training session to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Yuji groaned into the pillow in pain as the massage therapist began loosening the knots in between his shoulder blades with her fingers. "This is what you get when you suddenly do something you haven't done in full force. You're lucky it's only this bad."

"I did not have time to slowly buil-aagh!" Her elbows drove into the right side of his neck, cutting off his excuse. "Build up. Time was not a luxury I could afford at the time. I needed every minute."

"If you say so. Alright, I'm going to be doing acupuncture now, so don't move." Pulling a box open, the therapist took several dozen needles, all which were thinner than follicles of hair. She gently placed each one in several points of his body. In about fifteen minutes warm relief began spreading through his entire body. Yuji sighed as the pain eased its way out like steam from a sauna.

"You, miss, are a miracle worker."

"Drop by more often then." She said with a shrug, but clearly pleased by the compliment. "And don't call me miss. It's Penelope."

"Very well then Penelope, I think I will require your services again soon."

"Oh, really? Expecting to do more business elsewhere?"

"Soon, yes." Their conversation was cut short by Yuji's phone trilling. "Would you mind getting that for me, please?" With a nod, Penelope tossed the phone onto the bed. He set it to speaker.

 _"I'm at JFK. I'll be at the hotel in about half an hour. You ready for me?"_

"Considering what I will be teaching you, what choice do I have? I trust you brought your own tools of the trade?"

 _"Duh."_

"Tell me what they are. All of it."

 _"Astra A-100, Ruger Mark II, Ruger Mini-14 GB-F, ammo, some small knives and Ghost Dog's sword."_

"Interesting choice."

 _"What, is there a problem?"_ She asked, sounding somewhat offended.

"No, no problem. Just….putting names to guns is all. I should be ready when you get here. Tell the front desk I'm expecting you, they should let you in."

 _"Got it. See ya then."_ The call went dead and Yuji tossed the phone onto the couch as he repositioned himself to get more comfortable.

"Friend of yours?" Penelope asked.

"More an associate than a friend, I'm afraid. I need some help, and she was the only one that I could think of to go for help. I can be very particular about certain things and how I go about life so I'm not exactly the most accommodating human being."

"So you're an acquired taste. Nothing wrong with that."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Simple: I'm an acquired taste myself." With a nonchalant reply, she began removing the needles from Yuji's back, giving his back one last quick wipe with an alcohol swab.

"How so?"

"I work here," she scoffed. "That's plenty to be acquired taste worthy, isn't it?"

"True," he agreed as he stood up and stretched. The soreness was almost completely gone from his body. He rolled each of his shoulders back slowly. He could feel the knots were still there, but less pronounced than before. "But at least not to the point where you're neck deep in the flesh-for-cash business."

"Flesh-for-cash business? Is that what you call it?" Penelope asked, stifling a laugh.

Yuji squinted one eye, unsure of the comedic element in his words. "The client wants someone dead, I kill them, provide proof and get paid."

"An obscene fortune, yeah."

"Not always. Not in my case, anyhow. As long as I deem it a valid currency of some kind, I take it. And I deliver."

"So….you would kill someone for a quarter?"

"If that is all they have to offer aside from their life, yes." In fact, those were the first string of jobs that Yuji took that started his career. The amount offered differed every time, each bill and coin drenched with tears, blood, dirt and sweat, each with a different story behind it. The very first one was a young company man who wanted his own wife and her paramour dead, offering three months of his salary plus the engagement ring.

"Why?"

"There are several pillars that act as stabilizers of a person's mind. Support provided in different capacities: emotional support from a third party, money, dignity, health, food and such." Taking a stack of playing cards laying on the desk, he began putting together a house with his steady hands. Once he built it several stories high, it fell into a heap with a simple breath. "If enough of these are compromised, they will do anything to stabilize. Even take the lives of those responsible for it or themselves for their inadequacy. But not all of them possess the skill or the constitution to go through with it. It ultimately comes down to how badly you want something and what you're willing to do for it."

"Makes sense, I guess." During the pause, there was a knock at the door. "And that's my cue to leave."

"Thank you for the massage." Yuji handed her a small wad of bills and a coin. With a nod, she took it and left, switching places with Pearline.

"You look sleepy." Pearline commented as she set her bag down on the carpet floor.

"Due to catching up on my own review, to tell you the truth. Limber up before we start."

"Don't you wanna sleep? I have jetlag too…."

"I can sleep whenever. You on the other hand, at least need to have the basics instilled into your muscle memory. Handling a blade of any kind is about instinct. Angle, footwork, hand-eye coordination, everything must be as natural as taking a breath, particularly when it's longer." Gathering his things, Yuji signaled Pearline to follow him. Descending to the third floor, Yuji walked past the gym where a middle aged woman was panting on the treadmill as her unhealthily large body swayed every step. Walking toward a janitor closet, he opened a slot on the door and fed a coin in.

The lock disengaged with a click, and Yuji swung the door―and the shelf attached to it― open, revealing an empty room with mirrors covering one end of the wall much like a dancer's studio. "Here we are."

"Wow."

"You don't use the Continental often, do you?" Yuji asked, clearly unimpressed.

"Didn't need to in the first place, I know plenty of places to hide. Last time I traveled overseas was during college too, so…."

"Hm. Let's get started then." Once he saw Pearline pull out the sword from the bag, he stepped in, quickly drawing his own, the ring of steel echoing through the draw-slash. She just sidestepped out of the way, the blade taking half an inch or so of some of her braids. Flinging the scabbard towards him as she unsheathed the sword, she pounced on him, a stab aiming straight for his throat which Yuji slapped out of the way with the back of his hand against the flat of the blade. Stepping in, again, he swung, the back of the blade hitting her right across the navel. Drawing across it, he chuckled, "You're dead."

Pearline hissed as she felt the blade being drawn across her stomach for a split second. Changing her stance, she inched her way towards Yuji, who stood sideways, sword kept close to his right shoulder pointing upright. As the blades glinting under the fluorescent light whistled through the air, the occasional clash of steel echoed dully in the room.

And so the sparring went on until Pearline could no longer stand up. She was quite the power house. Although she may not be able to stand, the grip on the sword was still uncompromisingly tight. The sweat drenching her stung the extensive number of shallow cuts on her body. "Dammit…." Groaning while picking herself up, she began stretching.

"You do know what you are doing, I will admit that. You have the basics down. All you need now is experience, which you will have plenty soon. You do not use your sword often, I take it?"

"Rarely on jobs. Just for form practice. It wasn't mine originally, so it didn't seem like it was my place to use it. He wasn't a materialistic man, but I know for a fact that this is one of his most prized possessions."

"As it should be. Its craftsmanship is superb, unlike anything I've seen in quite a while, so I see your point. But Ghost Dog is dead. The ones responsible for his death are as well by your hand, I assume."

Rather than answering, Pearline merely gave him a sarcastic stare.

"Then I fail to see how you have not earned the right to use his sword after that."

"You saw how I did. A weapon is only as powerful as its master. I'm still not good enough."

"Another fair point. Well, I think we've done enough for today. Let's take a break, shall we? We have a little less than twelve hours before my contact comes with a delivery."

We have a little less than twelve hours before my contact comes with a delivery."

"A _break_?!" Pearline shouted in disbelief. "No, I'm gonna fucking sleep. I don't care what you say. And I'm hungry. In-flight food was shit."

"You flew coach." Yuji realized, suppressing a snicker.

"Oh, I'm sorry for not being so damn extravagant and lavish! Just…..get me room service or something? Please?"

"Of course. I approached you for help, not the other way round." In fact, she was entitled to every hospitality that could be offered (within the bounds of good taste, of course).

"Will an ice cream sundae lift your spirits marginally?"

"Marginally. And no sundae. Just a cone. Double scoop. But that's for dessert."

"Done. I could eat as well."


	6. Chapter 6

"You _sure_ he's coming?" Pearline asked as she leaned out of her seat to check the window for the tenth time now. The Bowery King's bird had an address strapped to its leg. It was a small Italian café _Rosa Nostra._ Sitting in the corner seat out of view from the street, Yuji ordered some coffee and two large slices of Genoise cake with butter cream frosting, playing shogi for about an hour and waiting for Cassian to show up.

"I have gone to that man before on more than one occasion, and he delivers everything I need. For a price, of course, but once a deal is struck, that man will honor it. Besides, he did not give us a location _and_ time, merely a location. This _is_ meant to be a stake-out, in case you need to be reminded. Be patient, he'll show up soon. Checkmate, by the way." Yuji tapped the board after capturing a piece.

"Dammit," she grumbled as she took another bite of the cake.

"You tend to neglect keeping track of your blind spots which you also neglect to keep to a minimum." Packing up the pieces into the foldable board, Pearline stuck her tongue out, tossed it into her backpack and pulled out a weathered copy of _Rashomon And Other Stories._

"Ah, you're an Akutagawa fan?"

"Ghost Dog was. Rubbed off on me too."

"Any favorites?"

" _Yabu no Naka._ " She replied, barely even looking up at Yuji to make eye contact. "I like the jab he takes at the inconsistency and the irony of how malleable the truth can be. The more I read it, the more the concept of objectivity became….hypocritical, if you ask me."

"Quite the bookworm. I appreciate you enjoy short stories from Japan."

"What about you? You come from the country the author was born."

"My favorite by him would be…. _Kumo no Ito._ Simple tale but still very impressionable. Oh, more coffee please."

"That story? It was a little too predictable to enjoy in my opinion. Any others?"

" _Aku no Kyoten._ The movie was great as well. The author knows the mind of the high-functioning sociopath very well. And now thanks to the movie, Mack the Knife is one of my favorite jazz songs."

"I heard about that movie. The guy that plays the psychopath needs to work on his pronunciation on English a little more, but it looked pretty good, review-wise."

"Sadly the educational system of foreign languages in Japan is….well, barely effective to say the least. I learned that the hard way. You? Any favorite movies, music?"

"Movies….eh, not so much. Maybe _Throne of Blood_ , couple other movies, but my life is already kind of a movie. But for music, definitely hip-hop. LL Cool J, KRS One, Biggie Smalls, A Tribe Called Quest, Snoop Dogg, RZA, Wu-Tang, stuff like that."

"Old-school. I respect that. And as if on cue, here he is. You might want to move the cake away from the table edge if you still want to eat it. In case it comes down to that." Taking the last bite of the cake and licking the frosting off his fingers, Yuji produced his short sword from within the folds of his jacket.

The bell on the café's door jingled. Footsteps approached. Balanced, composed, unwavering and confident. Footsteps belonging to a man of honor, focus and commitment. They soon stopped as Cassian in his dark blue suit and brown wingtips saw Yuji. His hand instinctively reached for his gun, but seeing a red dot hovering around his torso, he slowly brought his hands down.

"You are quite a hard man to find, Cassian. I figured the associates of your late ward would have…cut you loose, so to speak. But then again, you _are_ the second man to my knowledge that survived a bout with the Boogeyman himself."

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it." Cassian muttered.

"I have no interest in taking your life. But humor me by answering this: Why still work for the Camorra?"

"If you're seriously asking me that, you must be more of an idiot than stories tell you to be."

"Stories?"

"The little blood-drunk demon that prefers blades over bullets, leaving his mark with it like a Jack the Ripper wannabe."

Yuji chuckled. "Forgive me if I have offended you, I do not mean to question your work ethic or your code. You are a loyal man, someone that would risk his life to honor a promise, not a drone that blindly takes orders from whoever holds your leash. However," he said as he stood up, motioning Pearline to lower the gun, "you must have doubts."

"About what? The Camorra?"

"The leader may have changed, again, but it still is the organization that had a brother permanently remove his own sister. Not to purge a mutiny, or to smoke out a rat, but to steal. Out of a petty inferiority complex, greed and vanity, I might add. Is an organization disloyal to itself really worthy of a man of _your_ caliber? Of _your_ honor?"

"How they run things isn't my concern. Not that I disagree. We done here?"

"Yes. Thank you for your time." Leaving a crumpled hundred dollar bill and finishing the last of the coffee, he stood up. Pearline crammed what was left of the cake into her mouth and jogged after him.

The bell gave an empty jingle as the door closed behind Cassian. Flicking his eyes to the table the two were just sitting at, he saw the hundred dollar bill crumpled up in an unusual way, like wrapper. Six gold coins came tumbling out. A dry chuckle found its way out of Cassian's mouth. "Funny."

"After all of the trouble you went through to get to him, you're actually letting him go? He's obviously going to come after us at some point, catch us at a weak moment! The hell do you think you're doing?"

"It's fine. That was no place for killing. Besides, that establishment has good taste and good food. I also have a deal with Vincenzo Fedrico about the rules of engagement. Not involving civilians is part of it."

"Lead with that next time, maybe?"

"I will. Sorry about that. But the rules are simple: no civilians, no children, no police, and no open accounts. That's it."

"What are we going to do now? Keep knocking down mob-owned places and killing them until they run out of flunkies to throw at us? No offense but that sounds like it could get boring real quick."

"Would you rather fly to Rome? Take them on their land? I've ever been there twice, and by the time we get there, they would have moved every asset they own, switched safe houses, bulked up on security and laid traps in every foxhole that only they know about. So as much as I hate boredom as you, basing this war here is the only viable play that we have."

"Sooooo, where to next?"

"You know Francis?"

"Ummm…Russian guy, right? Bouncer that worked for the Tarasovs?"

"Correct. He actually retired recently after Abram Tarasov pulled his operation out from New York. Understandable after the…..heavy casualties." The story of stupidity revolving around the once powerful Viggo Tarasov's foolish scion Iosef took no time in spreading across the world. Abram likely knew that it was only a matter of time before they would be ousted from this way of living.

"What's he going to tell us? He already cut ties, didn't he? You said so yourself."

"Not entirely from what I heard. Francis' bar is a come one, come all sort of place. And when I mean all, I mean _all._ And he has very good hearing."

With a look of understanding and a widening smile crossing her lips, Pearline nodded several times, realizing where this was going. "Okay. When are we going?"

"In a couple of hours. Let's see if what you learned stuck."


	7. Chapter 7

Man oh man, it has been such a long time since I posted anything on this website or AO3. Real life has been an absolute maelstrom with graduate school courses and some personal crises of the future that I am still having while I'm sorting things out. Since writing is a temporary way out (though art is pain and life is suffering), here's a new chapter after four months and watching John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum. That was the absolute bomb and I saw it again.

Since authors write for readers as much as they do for themselves, I will be of service. Hopefully I haven't lost my edge with maintaining the atmosphere of the source material. Enjoy

* * *

Francis's bar which he christened _Wojtek_ ―――whose interior was an integration of both a pub and a bar―――was an establishment that did not go beyond the imagination. There were regular customers unassociated with Yuji's line of work as well as criminals whose existences are yet to be known by the authorities.

"Yes, he's got jazz." Yuji muttered under his breath as a grin spread. The piece softly playing through the speakers mounted on the walls was something by Charlie Parker, _'Round Midnight'_. He already planned on giving Francis and whoever serves them a hefty tip. "Can we take the counter?"

"Of course, this way please." A waiter ushered them to a corner of the bar counter made of walnut. "Anything I can get you?"

"Twelve year old Angostura 1824 with three ice cubes and a lime wedge. And some boneless wings."

"Ummmm….I'll have a coke. Oh and can I have this BLT sandwich too?"

"Certainly. Will that be all for now?"

"Yes. Thank you."

As the waiter took their order and left briskly, Pearline's head sank into the counter. "That. Was. Exhausting. You said we were coming here in a couple of hours." For two consecutive days, they had been going through the five boroughs of New York, destroying and looting safehouses, establishments, supply caches and getting into skirmishes with the Camorra, all while leaving his calling card.

"Then you need to work on your stamina more. Not all jobs take one day. And if I'm having you on my back, I need to be certain you can cover it. Consider it a field test." Despite the rather critical remark, Yuji was surprised as much as he was impressed with how well she was doing. So far, she has only sustained two injuries: a knife grazing her shoulder and a flesh wound from a bullet in the thigh.

"This _isn't_ a job. It's a freaking _war._ " She hissed.

"You are welcome to leave any time. I certainly would not hold it against you." Yuji murmured, and he meant it. He knew plenty of people he could ask to take care of her and teach her.

"Can't do that. You're the only one proficient enough with a sword in this day and age that I know well enough. Plus this gives me field practice time." As soon as the words left her lips, their drink orders arrived.

"Then why on earth are you complaining?" Yuji snickered like a prankster schoolchild as he took a sip of his drink. This was his first time at _Wotjek_ but the drink was perfect.

"It's called _venting_. Stop being such a jackass." Pearline growled before taking an indignant swig of her coke from a tall glass. She took another one after popping some pills, washing them down.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah. More so, once I eat."

"Make sure you chew thoroughly after every bite. I was taught fifty times for maximum efficiency of digestion."

"Shut. Up." She growled, as she gripped the tall glass of coke tightly, ready to douse him with it and then smashing the empty receptacle across his face. "But seriously, why Francis? I don't think a good ear to the ground is all you need."

Yuji silently motioned her to come closer to keep the conversation private. "He has….some business with the Bowery King on the down low. He provides protection in exchange for whatever Francis has to offer that he deems valuable or necessary."

"Why? How?"

"Don't ask that."

" _Why?_ " She pressed.

"This….look, that information is not something that we _must_ know. If that is the case, leave it alone. In our line of work, what matters is who, what, where, and when. How matters occasionally if some business needs to be conducted in a certain way, but why or why not is not our place to know unless the matter is personal. So just drop it. Please."

"Fine." Pearline huffed.

"But there is nothing wrong with having an inquisitive mind. That is how we grow and improve. Just….know when to put it to use and when not to."

"So…..read between the lines and all that?"

"Exactly. _Yoku dekimashita._ "

Pearline took a deep breath and grumbled something about being an immature man-child as she took ahold of the BLT sandwich and took a large bite out of it. Yuji dug into his boneless wings seasoned with teriyaki sauce, fresh black pepper and ground horse radish once it arrived.

They ate and drank in silence as customers came and went. After a little over an hour, they were the only ones left. Wiping his fingers with a napkin, Yuji yelled something in Russian towards the door with the sign STAFF ONLY. He then flung a gold coin at the door. With a shrill ring of metal, the coin bounced off and rolled several inches away from the door before lying flat on the ground.

"Was…..was that supposed to do something?"

"He was not anywhere that I could see. Barging in to get his attention would not be….well, proper in this circumstance. Just…give it a while longer."

A minute passed. Then two, then three. The door Yuji flung the coin at finally opened at the hands of a tall, thinly built bartender with sunken eyes. A woman with short hair dressed in black from head to toe emerged with a leather bag in one hand and black leather gloves in the other. A silver earring hung from her left ear and a diamond stud in the right, glinting in the lights hanging from the ceiling. Francis followed three steps behind her, eyes cast down and awkwardly shuffling his feet like a newly hired manservant. "Good evening, Mr. Ooe."

" _Konbanwa, Shinsain-san_. What brings you out and about?"

"I do hope for your sake that is sarcasm or a rhetorical inquiry, neither which I have time for." She remained expressionless, but the ice in her tone was made painfully clear. Though it was apparent to the trained eye that she was unarmed, the unwavering center of her balance and the rhythmical gait reminiscent of a clock made it clear: she had no need to be. "Mr. Fedrico's lieutenants have filed a complaint against you and your associate's actions against them and by extension, the High Table."

"Vincenzo Fedrico and I have an arrangement."

"I am quite aware. But seeing that the arrangement involves Mr. Wick, it cannot be allowed to continue. You have not forgotten your fealty to the table, yes?"

Slowly licking his fingers, Yuji wiped them with a napkin and reached into his jacket pocket, fishing his phone out. "Yes. May I make a phone call?"

"Yes, you may."

"Thank you." Dialing a number set on speed dial, he waited, pressing the phone against his ear.

" _I am afraid that our…..arrangement must come to an end."_ The call went through in a matter of seconds initiated with Vincenzo's apologetic voice. _"A vote was cast for an immediate cessation of hostilities between our parties and the majority voted for it. Including_ il arbitro. _"_

"I see," Yuji breathed, the phone in his hand creaking from the pressure applied to it. "And she is here as a one-time-only courtesy warning."

 _"Yes, and a vote was cast for that as well. Mr. Akoni and several others including myself cast a ballot for you since you have served."_

"Very kind of you and them. Peace, then?"

 _"Si, ragazzo. For now."_ Slowly closing the phone, he stared back at the Adjudicator, standing still as a marble statue.

"So…..what's next?"

"Seeing as you have yet to commit any grievous transgressions of the rules or stand against the High Table to be declared excommunicado, you have two choices: accept the eventuality that will befall Mr. Wick, or have a hand in it. You may even succeed to collect the bounty on Mr. Wick yourself given your…...proclivity towards antiquated bladed weaponry. However, before either choice can be made available, you must pay in blood to reassure your fealty to the table. Two days of plundering a High Table member's assets. Two holes in their purse will be settled with two holes in you."

"Fair enough." Yuji sighed.

"Wha-wait wait wait. You're just….you're just going to let her?"

"Not her. _Them_." Yuji pointed at Francis. Or rather, the men _behind_ Francis. A man with a shaved head, still in his prime, a playful little smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Three more men stood behind him.

"Zero….." Pearline muttered, knitting her brows.

Seeing Zero and his students, Yuji failed to suppress a chuckle. "Of all the people you could conscript, you pick the middle-aged, bald-headed, toxic fanboy of John Wick. _Akirakana jinsen-misu da. Soitsura shinuzo? Maa ore wa betsuni kamawanee kedo._ "

"He volunteered, I acquiesced. Proceed."

"Mind if I remove my shirt?"

"As you wish."

Yuji pulled his jacket, tie and shirt off as two of Zero's students walked up to him, each of them holding knives. Outstretching his arms, he nodded. " _Douzo_." With a nod, they both gently slid the blades in between his ribs, one puncturing a lung and the other his liver. He groaned in pain as he felt heat rapidly pouring out of his wound, the coldness of blood loss setting in quickly like frostbite. Grabbing his shirt, he tore it in two with his mouth, folding it up and pressing it against his open wounds as he gasped for air.

"That will be all. Good night." With a satisfactory nod, the Adjudicator briskly headed for the door, followed by Zero and his students.

"Wait." Pearline spoke up pointing to one of the students. "I want him."

"Excuse me?" The Adjudicator asked without so much as turning her head.

" _Him._ The Tiger."

"You are aware that――"

"Yes. And no, this has nothing to do with John Wick. I have no emotional stake in his life or his death. I want him because I have a marker." She produced a silver disk and opened it, producing a divided surface with the bloody thumb print of the debtor on one half.

The Adjudicator turned her head, walked back towards Pearline and took the marker in her own hands. "And who, may I ask, is the holder?"

"Armand Juan Ruiz Ramires de Arroyo. Issued in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Check with Winston."

"Very well. I will acknowledge the marker. You will be allowed to remove his soul from the premises. Should you succeed, it will not be considered an attack against the Table. Good night to you both."

* * *

I'm probably going to end this story in another 2-3 chapters since there won't be another sequel for a while and it'll probably end with the battle against the High Table soldiers. Maybe have him join John and the Bowery King? Or perhaps have him die in that battle? Who knows? I'll cast a die or something.

Translation for the Japanese dialogue

 _Yoku dekimashita: well done (usually used towards children)_

 _Konbanwa, Shinsain-san: Good evening, Ms. Adjudicator_

 _Akirakana jinsen-misu da. Soitsura shinuzo? Maa ore wa betsuni kamawanee kedo: It's a clear mistake in choice. You know they'll die, right? Not that I really care_

 _Douzo: Please/Help yourself._


End file.
